Nora’s POV
The sound of plates clanking together filled the back of the kitchen, along with the smell of fried meat and hot oil. My hands were already sore, and my shirt was slightly damp from standing over steaming water for too long.
Taylor and I were side by side, washing dishes as fast as they came in. Plates, bowls, cutlery—everything stacked endlessly like the event would never end.
This is the gig we had been hired for today.
“Taylor, get this food to table sixteen,” the event manager snapped from behind us and Taylor wiped her hands on her apron, grabbing the tray immediately.
“On it,” she said, shooting me a quick look.
I kept scrubbing, watching more dirty plates get dropped beside me and then the manager turned to me.
“You,” he said sharply. “Leave the dishes and go help
